


5 Times Jimmy Took Souls (and 1 Time a Soul Took His)

by hey_malarkey



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: 5+1 Things, Abusive Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Non-graphic depiction of violence, a couple of godawful puns, child soul stealing, fiery scars bc of demon boss, non-graphic depiction of past rape, original characters die, painful scars, past billford, past jimstan, this story has a lot of dark things but i wouldn't call it a dark fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 11:51:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18260720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hey_malarkey/pseuds/hey_malarkey
Summary: Jimmy is cursed. He incurred a debt and now he has to work to pay it off. That work? Collecting souls and delivering them to his demon boss, who is holding his soul ransom in return. Once he’s finished, he can finally have his life back, his soul returned. But until then? Magic powers and a million miles traveled, and he’s not sure there’ll be anything human left by the time he regains his soul in the first place.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> I will mark at the beginning of each chapter the specific warnings that go with that chapter so you know what you're reading. However each chapter has Jimmy killing people and stealing their souls. Keep that in mind.
> 
> 1- Non-graphic depiction of violence, abusive/manipulative relationship,

Jimmy heard a slap and a whimper and a low threat issued. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the woman nod, not quite making eye contact, as a man told her not to even look at anyone but him again that night. Jimmy saw him put his hands on her ass and bring her closer, so he was talking in her ear. Like a parody of caring young lovers. He heard the man’s threats go farther as the woman tried not to shake as she apologized and said she’d do better.

Finally the man stood back. “Get me a drink, and remember what I said, woman.”

She nodded quickly and took off for the bar, squeezing beside the empty spot near Jimmy, not looking at him as she tried to flag the bartender.

Jimmy kept a closer eye on the couple all night. The man possessively bringing her closer or pushing her around, laughing with his friends as he drank more.

When he saw the man finish his second game of pool, he brought over a pitcher and got ready for the moment he’d wanted all night.

“Hey, you seem to be beating all your little friends here. How bout a challenge to make it interesting?” he subtly shifted his form, putting his weight onto his left leg to get ready for his deception.

The man looked at him. “What kind of challenge? Money?”

Jimmy poured himself a cup and one for the other.

“I’m well enough off in that. But I do notice you have some fine shoes. How’s about we use them to play, versus something of mine?” Jimmy grinned behind his cup as he took a drink.

“You want my shoes? What kind of weird-ass bullshit are you playing?”

“Well, not both yer shoes. As you can see, I only need the one—“and he lifted his jeans back to show what his magic had created, the illusion of a prosthetic foot. “So just yer one soul, if you please. And uh, sure, you can name my stakes.”

The man leaned back and talked to his buddies. He heard a few derogatory comments about his chosen form. He already knew the man liked to pick on someone who looked weaker than him. But also couldn’t back down from an obvious challenge by another leader-type, like Jimmy was giving off.

Jimmy had only changed his leg. He was still his over six foot in height, a muscle shirt showing off his rippling muscles beneath a leather biker’s jacket. Dark jeans and combat boots and a bandana tying back his long reddish blond hair. A Fu Manchu and sunglasses hiding his fiery eyes.

His jacket hid the snake tattoo curling around his left bicep. It also hid the tally marks a bad deal he made a few years back. If all went well tonight, he’d be one mark lighter.

The man agreed, making Jimmy prove he had two-hundred bucks to drop in exchange for one shoe.

“We agreed, then? I win, your soul, you win, money?”

“Yeah, deal. Whatever, you’re gonna lose.”

The woman came to his side and tried telling him a quick “good luck, baby” but he turned and shoved her hard into the table behind them.

“I won’t need luck to beat this sucker,” he snarled at her. “You’re not off the thin ice yet, don’t distract me.”

Jimmy felt his eyes burn harder for a moment before they settled back down.

The man broke the set. Jimmy was solids.

It was a short game.

The man started cocky but got angrier with every solid in the pocket. Jimmy even started calling a few of his shots, knowing it would drive this man to further distraction and sloppiness.

When Jimmy sunk the 8-ball he looked up at the man and grinned.

The man was grumbling but his buddies were calling out insults as they laughed at their friend’s bad luck. “Hey, a deal’s a deal, Dave! Catch ya Thursday, huh?” and leaving  _Dave_ and his girlfriend behind.

His girl went to Dave’s side and told him he’d win the next time but  _Dave_  turned and thundered at her. “You bitch! I told ya not to distract me, and look what you did. You distracted me and I lost! You never learn to just stay in your place, huh?” He raised one hand in the air, but Jimmy caught it before it could strike. He hauled  _Dave_ out of the bar through the back door and threw him against the alley wall, hard. He stayed in front of him, grabbing both of Dave’s wrists as he held him against the wall, crowding his space, blocking any chance Dave had of slinking away. Dave’s girl followed them skittishly, staying out of reach but watching everything in silence with wide eyes.

“What the fuck, get off me and stay outta my business.”

“Not until our business is done, Davey.”

“You want my fucking shoe? Take it, freak,” he toed his shoe off with one foot and kicked Jimmy in the leg with it, trying to get away. Jimmy didn’t budge. Dave had tried to kick the leg where he had the illusion, thinking it was weaker. Dave seemed like he was always picking on the weaker ones. This was Jimmy’s favorite type of take.

Jimmy made a clicking noise with his tongue, shaking his head slowly. “Oh Davey, don’t ya know you should always get a deal in writing? I haven’t been saying shoe-soul. I’ve been gambling for your  _immortal soul_ all night. And you agreed.”

Jimmy tilted his head down so Dave could see over the edge of his sunglasses as they fell down his nose a little more. Twin flames flared in his eye sockets and Dave blanched.

“N-no way. Come on! We can work something out—“Dave started struggling harder against Jimmy’s iron grip. “Why don’t ya take my girl instead? A pretty young soul, eh? Could-could take whatever you want from her first, even. You’d like that, right? Ain’t she a hot piece of ass, gotta be worth something to ya, right?” Dave swallowed hard as he spoke, getting more panicked.

Jimmy leaned in closer, breath washing over Dave’s face, body keeping him still against the dirty alley wall.

“I coulda taken everyone in that bar, tonight. I just prefer taking assholes, and you were the biggest one I could find.”

Dave kept trying to talk around it. His girl was off to the side, saying nothing, watching Dave but meeting neither man’s eyes when they flicked her way.

Jimmy decided this had gone on long enough.

Jimmy’s eyes glowed red and he felt flames snake their way to his palms. He reached a hand into Dave’s chest and absorbed his soul, fingers spread wide as fire bloomed where his wrist met flesh. This was the painful way of soul-extraction. He almost liked the way Dave’s yell petered out as he took and took and  _took_ from him.

When he was done, he retracted his hand and let go, letting Dave flop to a heap on the ground. He brought the soul to his own chest and absorbed it. As he did so he felt a searing pain and knew one of the tally marks on his chest had disappeared.

Good. One more soul down.

He turned to the woman watching with one hand over her mouth and eyes still staring wide.

“What’s your name, kid?” he asked gently.

“I-I’m Annie.” She still didn’t meet his eyes.

“Annie, take his money. Take care of yourself, and get outta here. He’s not ever gonna hit you or hurt you again.”

Annie didn’t move. Jimmy knelt down and went through Dave’s pockets, bringing up his wallet. He flipped through before passing it over.

Annie took it and turned around, finding her legs unsteady but running out of the alley nevertheless. She didn’t look back once.

Jimmy dispelled the rest of his magic and left. Hopping on his bike and roaring into the night, one soul lighter.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for 2- Child Soul Stealing, Homeless Children

Jimmy had a gang and a business, before all the soul-stealing.

Before the bad deal from a bad boss left him a few hundred souls in wanting and with fire for eyes and new magic to learn to control. Before he was branded with those countless tally marks that added one more whenever he tried to determine their number.

Now he was alone. He passes through every town looking for souls. Sometimes those on the fringes, sometimes not.

Sometimes it’s whoever he can bully into saying  _yes_.

Sometimes it’s a bet where the wording’s wrong but they don’t notice what they’re putting into the pot.

When he first started all he could sense were souls. Just that people had them. Well, that people had them, and how he could take them.

But he’s been at this for more than a few years and his senses have only grown. He can see more than if one’s there. He sees the attachments on each soul. The threads that can be frayed or strong or kinked up or rotten or broken entirely. He can see the colors and brightness and dimness that makes up each soul. He can see how hopeful or desperate or unsure or how tortured a soul is. He can see if some are more powerful than another.

He doesn’t choose to see souls all the time. He likes to look at people as they want to be seen, and only use his second sight before he absorbs, or is looking for a new take.

He doesn’t like picking people with strong souls, despite how powerful they are. Despite knowing they’d take so many tally marks at once from him. So much closer to freedom from his debt.

That doesn’t mean he won’t… he’s not a perfect person. Hell knows he’s done some shit and lost no sleep.

Jimmy rides slowly through the dark town, peering down alleyways and around street corners. He sees so many souls with attachments on these people. It’s not his favorite way to take, but he’s hungry, his boss is demanding. He needs to take soon.

That’s when he sees them. Three or four bodies huddled together. Too late or denied entrance or outright refusal to head to one of the shelters in the city. He passes them and parks, walking back up the block for a closer look.

Their souls aren’t distorted, but the threads weaved through them are loose. There’s no cords branching away and out of his vision. The ties are weak to each other, but their colors are bright.

A couple of teens, maybe a younger child. Runaways, his gut tells him. He’d seen more than enough of them back before this soul-stealing business. Runaways or kicked out or something worse altogether. He recognizes the patterns that mark them and he doesn’t have to ask their stories to get a picture of what they came from.

Jimmy doesn’t actually need permission to complete his boss’s orders. He could take as he willed. But there’s something that coils tight in his gut and stays there like a rock unless he gets at least one yes from the lips of those he takes. He’s never fully understood what that feeling was, but he knew it would haunt him if he refused its demands.

So he approached slowly, hands up and a gentle smile on his face.

“Hey, I ain’t gonna hurt you. I know a place you can get warm, no cops, no catch. Will you let me help?”

The youngest bites their lip and nods before the other two can say no.

Jimmy snaps his fingers and they all go limp, asleep. He snaps his fingers again and allows his hands to catch a low, warm flame. Slowly he reaches for their shoulders and sets his hand on each in turn, carefully drawing their soul to him, letting it travel back through him, to his own core. He felt a shudder run through him as the souls transferred and—

Dam. Those kids had some power.

Jimmy felt the burning in his chest as five marks disappeared, leaving behind a trail of faintly raised lines in their stead.

He didn’t let himself think about the bright young souls within him as he took off into the night. He didn’t laugh at how freely the wind flew through his hair, though the new souls wanted to.

It was always like that, after a fresh take. They tangled around his own soul and filled him with their thoughts, their desires, their  _life_. Until they could settle back and Jimmy could properly release them to his boss.

Taking children was always harder. It reminded him of everything he’d lost. Riding for the hell of it. Helping out versus helping himself. Friends, people, opportunities left behind.

He shook his head, refocusing on the road. He mumbled “buzz” under his breath at every yellow car for the next hundred miles, playing a game against his self and the souls taken within him.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for 3- Implied/Referenced Suicides

Jumpers were easy. After a while he learned to feel out the desperate souls. The runners, the hopeless, the destitute.

He could feel the fear.

Some days, all he had to do was call out “What are you doing?” And the answers would vary, but inevitably threaded through was the phrase “ _I’m giving up.”_

That was all he needed to reach forward and pull the soul towards him.

Sometimes the shock caused them to fall.

He could feel the regret swimming in those souls as he took them on.

It often brought him to one knee, feeling sick to his stomach and also the painful scorch of one mark being taken off.

The souls usually held so many broken threads, in so few dim colors, in terrible disarray. The way he mentally categorized souls he encountered took on a new look once he started dealing with Jumpers.

Sometimes he could feel them wavering between backing down and going through with it. He made the choice for them, sometimes, if it had been too long between souls.

But Jimmy takes and he takes and he’s so  _tired_ of it.

The worst part about all this is that at the end of it all, he gets to keep his own soul. Right now it’s on loan to his boss. But after all of this, he’s getting it back. And what will be left of it but all the scars he has from what he’s done.

So sometimes he’s sick of taking the easy route.

Sometimes he intervenes on their behalf, not his own.

Sometimes he gets up on the ledge or the bridge or the windowsill next to them and  _sits_ instead of  _takes_. He listens.

They talk and they sit in silence and he smokes a few cigarettes. One time a kid took it but refused his offer of a light because, “Those things will kill you, you know,” and Jimmy had shook his head and told him a stiff breeze was more likely to get that job done rather than a pack of these and the kid had laughed. It had surprised both of them, and the kid had teared up instead, and spilled everything on his mind.

Jimmy wasn’t sure if he was too good at the comforting, anymore. Once upon a time he’d known what to say and when to say it and how to be a leader and a listener and a good guy, if a bit too much a fan of the five-fingered discount.

But now he was older and tired and hurting and he hadn’t seen a friend he hadn’t betrayed in over fifteen years and he didn’t know how to lead as he aimlessly wandered the country looking for more to take with his greedy heart and dirty hands.

Sometimes it feels so much more uncomfortable to give a shit. He wonders halfway through the stilted conversations if it wouldn’t have been kinder just to take and be done.

But he was so dam tired. He was sick of it. So he kept on listening until the kid ran out of words, and he listened through the tears and memories and stillness of a dark night. He took every word that kid gave.

And when they were finished talking, Jimmy held out his lighter one more time.

“Sure you don’t want to smoke one?”

The kid put the cigarette he’d been rolling between his fingers and tucked it into his pocket, cautiously turning, dropping one foot over the railing on the sidewalk side.

“Nah, those things will kill ya. And I—I guess I don’t wanna die yet.” It was said with uncertainty and something that felt like wonder, but it was a plan of action to  _keep going_. Jimmy didn’t watch the kid walk back to the real world. He finished another cigarette, flicking it over the edge of the bridge, watching the light until it was extinguished.

When he did finally look up, hopping back down to the sidewalk himself, his soul sight caught the edge of a cord winding through the darkness. It was faint, but strong, and it attached itself to  _him_.

A warmth grew in Jimmy’s chest that night. Dim, but present. He heard the kid’s soul whisper  _thanks_ to him.

Jimmy left that town without taking a soul. He couldn’t fully change…but sometimes, he wouldn’t take a Jumper. He’d feel the bond to that first kid’s soul burn stronger and he’d sit out there and talk. Shoot the breeze. Offer a cigarette.

Jumpers were hard. But worth it, for his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- hey also let me know if I missed something I need to tag, please. I'm trying to be considerate of all the triggers in here, and I'd hate to miss one


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4- Implied/Referenced Abuse,

He knows it makes him more noticeable. He knows they won’t always talk to someone who looks like him. He knows it’d be hell trying to get out of a situation where he got caught.

But he doesn’t care.

Doing a job with his magic obscuring his appearance doesn’t have the same ring of victory, of justice.  _Of revenge_ , as it does when he stays as he is.

After taking so many souls whose only reason was “wrong place, wrong time,” Jimmy was itching to set a few wrongs right.

He rolled into the small city and set up shop. He started looking for souls who didn’t deserve a second chance.

He found shelters and safe places and he wore a gentle smile and his jacket without the spikes. And he asked for names.

He asked for context and places but sometimes the name was all he had. Well, the name and a lead with damaged soul threads, winding across town and into important houses of important people. Or regular houses of regular people who are _sorry_  and  _didn’t mean it_ and _you still love me, right? I love you, it will never happen again_  and so many promises. Men and women who  _hurt_ those they’d sworn to love, to protect.

He finds all of them, with their smug, cocky, self-confident souls that burn a dark shade of blue. A color many abusers do. Their souls, despite their vibrance, are always exactly one soul each. But when he aims to take so many, the numbers matter less to him.

He doesn’t ask for deals. He says, “Are you” and their name and when they give whatever answer or lie they have to offer, Jimmy grins wide, feral, pulls off his shades and snarls, “ _Not anymore,_ ” as he  **takes** their soul.

In one city in a few nights he has taken thirty-four souls. His chest feels continuously on fire, searing him, as marks disappear. He doesn’t look to see how many more to go. He doesn’t dare try to add one more.

He takes this victory and hopes he helped somebody, anybody.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for 5- Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Sexual Assault, Non-Graphic Mention of Past Rape, (they were in high school but it was an 18/16 year old)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -if you skip this chapter, all you missed is that Jimmy took the souls of abusers from his former biker gang's past, despite it making him physically ill.

He doesn’t seek people from his past. Too much of a temptation to rekindle relationships he’ll have to break, again. He lives a solitary, cursed life. No one should be left hanging for him.

Sometimes he searches for people from other people’s pasts, though. He remembers stories of jailbreaks, quick escapes, lost dreams, money-making schemes. His friends and their reasons for joining the gang. Lovers that came and went but never fully left his mind.

Sometimes he looks for the people that had hurt his friends, in his former life. They wouldn’t know it was him doing this for them. But he hoped their souls would find some rest, knowing their enemies, their nightmares, their monsters under the bed or down the hall or standing in front of you with arms crossed was  _gone_.

He seeks out Mike’s uncle that did bad things to Mike and his siblings as kids. Mike never really said, but he got drunk one night at a bar playing reruns of some cop show and threw his glass at the screen when  _that_ scene came on. They got kicked out and Jimmy had helped Mike to the nearest Motel 8 to sleep it off. Mike panicky and shoving Jimmy away. Jimmy keeping watch as Mike whimpered and whispered in his fitful sleep to the ghosts of his brothers and sisters in years past.

Didn’t remember a thing the next morning. Jimmy went to the bar and paid damages out of pocket, then went for a long solo ride.

Jimmy had assumptions, but they weren’t confirmed until he met Mike’s uncle. He felt sick when that soul entered him.

Jimmy looks for Lonnie’s monster. Lonnie was stronger than he was, muscles wise. Thickly built with a bit of grease always under one eye and short brown hair, spiked when her helmet allowed. Lonnie could throw down in a bar fight, be the muscle of any gig they had, or scare anyone away with a particular snarl and just a look in her eye.

But back in high school Lonnie had just been “big-boned” with long hair and a passion for motorcycles her parents didn’t approve of. Back in high school the wrestling team liked picking on her because they could. A boy on the team asked her out and apologized for his teammates’ jerk words. She let herself accept that and leaned into the date.

When she leaned away, that boy didn’t let her. When she yelled _No!_ and fought and rolled and cried he pinned her down and laughed at her as he took.

That eighteen-year old  _man_ destroyed sixteen-year old Lonnie’s world, and he got away scot-free. Got himself an athletic scholarship and left town.

Lonnie cried until her tears turned to rage. She cut her hair and snuck into the weights room with nobody around. She got strong. She built her own bike and ran off at seventeen. Nobody took advantage of her again, she made sure of that.

She told Jimmy about it, once. Not the act, but the feelings. The rage. She still felt it. It had been more than fifteen years, by then, but it never went away for her.

In the years between it happening and Jimmy hearing, all he knew was that Lonnie was angry. That when they were celebrating a job they’d pulled, she’d knocked Nicky Petersen flat out for starting to get handsy on her. That she didn’t let anyone touch her, really.

That one time they found themselves rolling through her hometown and she started a bar fight and got a nasty cut from a broken bottle, but she’d beaten up some go-nowhere men from her high school.

Jimmy asked her what the hell was going on with her, and it was the most vulnerable he’d ever seen her look, for a moment. She didn’t share much that night. That happened a couple years later. But that fragile look in her eye, the flash of immeasurable pain as blood welled up and poured down her face and that force of nature friend of his turned into a sixteen-year old girl who felt so alone, so broken, one more time.

Jimmy saw her soul, once, after he was cursed. He didn’t recognize the signs until a few years later. So he sought after the past and tracked down Lonnie’s monster.

He put the fear in their eyes and relished the terror in their hearts as he took the souls of those monsters. Each one made him sick afterwards but the burn of one more soul off his debt was worth the pain of  _taking_ them.

More worth it was knowing the friends of his past never had to fear from their own pasts again.


	6. +1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something has been drawing Jimmy north for some time, so he follows his gut and finds himself in an interesting situation.
> 
> -the fluffiest chapter! no warnings

Jimmy’s going out to look again tonight. Something feels like it has been pulling him up the coast for weeks now. He’s felt restless and strange. It could mean a powerful soul. Or it could be a minor demon, or a supernatural being to avoid. He wouldn’t know until he found it or it moved on.

He’d caught a few unlucky souls trying to jack his bike the night before. Their souls were just like the crew he used to run with and it made him ache with what he’d lost, something he tries not to think about too often.

Jimmy was a taker, now.

He opened the door to some port’s main pub and a bell jangled overhead, barely heard over the general din and busyness of the bar.

He heard a half-dozen conversations as he scanned the souls. Whatever it was, it was definitely here—

“Tea? You’re getting tea? You always make fun of  _my_ drink choice but  _you’re_ getting tea?!” he heard, laughter and confusion coloring his tone.

Jimmy, startled out of his soul-sight, looked over. He saw one older man shove his friend with one hand, grinning and holding his drink with the other.

“What can I say?  **Leaf** me alone, poindexter. The last week has left me  **bushed**! HA!” The man guffawed and his friend shook his head, chuckling softly.

“You’re not really getting tea, then?”

“Hell no! I’ll take a-uhh,” he turned from his barstool to face the room at large.

“Hey!” he shouted, getting everyone’s attentions. “Me ‘n my brother— _say grammar and I’ll punch you, dam it_ —sorry, we’re just sailing through and the letters on the board are too small for our old eyes. Anybody know a good drink to have here?”

Everybody was jovial smiles and good-natured patrons called out a couple suggestions for “J _ack and coke!_ ” or “ _Whiskey neat_ ,” and one called for a locally brewed beer that Jimmy knew for fact tasted like shit.

Jimmy called out “Sex on the Beach!” to a few laughs around the room. The man turned and pointed a finger at him.

“We got a winner!” The man winked at him and waved him over as he turned and slung an arm around his friend, talking to the bartender now. “Two sexes on the Beach. Two Sex on the Beaches? Aw hell, two a those guys, thanks.”

Jimmy wanted to make a joke back, to walk over. But he was suddenly struck by two enormously heavy thoughts at once.

He knew he’d found the soul pulling him north and—

_He knew that old man_.

Jimmy was thrust back in time, long before being cursed. Back when he led the motorcycle gang and he’d just met a cute kid at the bar they’d taken over and how that kid gave as good as he got from Jimmy. He was seeing a strange side by side comparison of the Stan Pines he’d known and the old man—he never expected him to make it that old, honestly, as break-neck as he’d lived, as fully as he threw his heart around, Jimmy half-expected him to get it stabbed out—he saw before him now.

He didn’t dare open his full sight to look at Stan’s soul. He didn’t want to know yet.

“Make it four,” Jimmy said to the bartender as he finally made his way to the seat on Stan’s left, the elbow of the bartop. He could see both men before him and was amazed at nearly seeing double. He’d known Stan was a twin, but…

“Sure you can handle that, kid?” Stan asked. And it was so incongruent to hear  _Stan_ call  _him_ kid, he couldn’t do anything but laugh and shake his head.

“Actually, I had a feeling you’d want more. The second one’s for you,” he said, taking his drink from the bartender and swirling his straw around a few times before taking a sip.

“Nice. I like a man who’ll pay for my drinks. If it’s free then I ain’t complaining, heh, right?”

Jimmy smiled back at him. “Something like that, yeah.”

“So what’s a kid like you doing in a place like this?” Stan asked, leaning towards Jimmy.

“Stanley!” came from his brother before Jimmy could answer, sounding exasperated. “Don’t be so rude.” Jimmy gave him a once over. Stan’s brother had it going on, as well. With fluffy dark gray hair and a distinguished swipe through it. Strong build, different than Stan. Both a good bit shorter than him. He thought about peeking at his soul but thought better of it.

“What? He’s literally wearing a biker’s jacket at a seaport. It’s got  _spikes_! He’s gotta know that’s weird,” Stan replied, turning back to the other. Ford, the name finally came to him.

Before Ford could reply, Jimmy cut in.

“That’s alright, kitten, I know I stand out.”

Stan sputtered while Ford snickered beside him.

“He hasn’t even heard you sneeze.”

“Shut up, nerd. Like you’re any better.”

Ford brought his drink to his lips to stifle his laughter.

“So what’s your name, then?”

Jimmy swirled his straw around, deciding to show a couple cards. “I’ll give ya something sweet if you can guess it.”

Stan rubbed his hands together, eyes lighting up. “Mmm, a challenge. Been a while since I had one a these.”

“What about the screaming mermaids?”

“Not a nerd challenge, Stanford.” Stan turned back to Jimmy. “Got any hints?”

Jimmy shrugged his jacket off, putting his chin propped on his left fist, showing of his tattoo. “I dunno, like what?” he grinned.

“Hmm, nice ink. I got a couple myself—“ Stan said, cutting a glance to his brother in time to see Ford roll his eyes.

“You told me to stop apologizing for that,” he muttered. Stan smirked and turned back.

“Mamba? Python? Copperhead- heh, get it, cuz your hair.”

Jimmy smiled broader. The kid could really overcomplicate things.

“Nope. You got a guess, Stan Jr.?” he asked to Ford.

“What? I’m older! If anything,  _he’s_ Stan Jr.!” Ford said, gesturing to Stan.

“You sure about that, doll face?”

“HA! He got ya there, Sixer,” Stan laughed as Ford sputtered.

After some more ribbing they all settled back to their drinks, Stan staring at him thoughtfully.

“Ya know, there  _is_ something familiar about you, kid,” Stan said. “Not that this brain is good for much, ‘specially with the whole memory problem now, heh.”

“Stan, you know—“

“Can it.”

Jimmy heard the same self-deprecating kid he’d known years ago, and his heart ached that this man still thought the same.

“I’ll give ya two more hints, Stan. One, I’m older than you.”

Both men looked incredulous at that.

“How is that a hint?” Ford asked.

“That’s gotta be a straight up lie, pal. You’re—what? Thirty-five? Forty at the most?”

Jimmy smiled. “I’m about seventy-five now, yeah.” Jimmy gave them no time to react as he leaned forward and continued. “And you’d know that, Stan, because we’re old friends.”

Stan’s brows dropped together in confusion, mouth slightly open, leaning in as well, closer to Jimmy’s face.

Ford was a little more abrupt. He stood quickly and dodged around Stan’s chair to stand between them. His face was like stone, all jokes from earlier gone. He crowded Jimmy’s space but even though Ford was barely as tall as he was standing to Jimmy’s seat, he was no less intimidating.

“If you mean any harm to my brother, I will make you regret it—“

Jimmy sat up, hands in the air. “Take it down a notch, doll. I’ve never hurt Stan, and I don’t plan on starting.”

“ _Who are you_ ,” Ford demanded.

“Ford, relax, lemme get a good look—“

“Jimmy Snakes.”

There was a beat of silence as Ford whipped around to watch Stan.

Stan’s hands flew to his temples and Ford grabbed his brother’s shoulders, speaking low and urgent.

Jimmy was at a loss. Something hadn’t been right all night. More than old age memory problems.

It felt like something magic.

_Something cursed._

Jimmy had been holding off using his second sight all night. But he  _needed_ to know what was going on with Stan. So he took a deep breath and looked into Stan’s soul.

He was immediately knocked out of his seat, over-turning his stool, crashing to the ground, barely remembering to catch himself as he fell.

Stan’s soul was more powerful than he could have ever imagined.

At the same time a beeper on Ford’s watch went crazy. He whipped around and stared at Jimmy on the floor.

“What are you?” he snarled.

Jimmy was spared from answering as the bartender came over. “Hey, quit it with the funny business or I’m turning ya out.”

Jimmy muttered an apology as he shakily stood up, correcting the stool.

Stan sighed and looked up. He brought his hands down and shook off Ford’s grip on his shoulder. Standing, he looked Jimmy in the eyes.

Then he smiled.

“What’re you just standing there for, Snakes? Grab your drink and let’s go talk! We got years to catch up on, man.”

Jimmy and Ford both gave him a  _look_ but they grabbed their ridiculous drinks and followed Stan to a back booth.

“Why’d ya fall over a sec a go, Jimmy? Wowed by my presence?” he joked. But he hit the nail on the head. Stan had a knack for that, even after all this time. Joking to the heart of the matter.

“Yeah, Stan. I was blown away by you.” He’d carefully been avoiding using his soul sight again. He didn’t want to have a stroke in the middle of some bar with Stan’s twin brother threatening to kill him.

“Hah, and here I thought I hadn’t cracked any strong wind in days. There goes my streak, ha!”

“Stanley, that’s distasteful,” Ford Started as Jimmy allowed the joke to melt some of the tension from his shoulders.

“Nah, it’s just tasty enough. Jimmy, you used to love my fart jokes, right?”

“Not when you ripped them in the middle of sex, but yeah, they were always pretty bad, Stan.”

Stan pushed Ford into the booth first, sliding in next to him, waving Jimmy to sit opposite. Choosing not to comment beyond another hard laugh.

Ford shot a glare at Jimmy but Stan elbowed him and told him to chill out. “Jimmy’s from the good—or, well, better, at least—part.”

Ford scowled and tried speaking lowly, but Jimmy’s hearing was enhanced, so he heard every word between the brothers.

“Stan, he’s not human, not fully. It could be a trick or—“

“Just trust me,” was all Stan said back. Quietly, simply. Ford hesitated but nodded.

Stan turned back to him and took a long drink of Sex on the Beach, staring Jimmy in the eye. He smacked his lips as he pulled off, smiling.

“So. What happened, Jimmy?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Stan,” Jimmy deflected.

“Bet mine’s weirder.” Stan grinned wide, leaning forward. Ford had an unreadable expression on his face.

Jimmy felt a good story stirring in Stan. His smile was guarded, but wide all the same.

“I almost doubt that—but I know you better, Stan. I’ll settle for equally weird.”

“Is that why you set off my anomaly tracker?” Ford interjected.

“Probably,” he shrugged. “What sets it off?”

“Anything that could be of anomalous nature above a level 3, and especially anything originating interdimensionally, and of course demons.”

Jimmy rubbed at his moustache and chin with one hand, hiding a smirk growing there.

“That’s pretty thoroughly specific, Ford.”

Ford narrowed his eyes. “It needs to be, in our line of work.”

“True enough,” was all Jimmy said back.

“Hey, you here for my brother, or for me?” Stan asked, chuckling, tearing between the staring contest Ford keeps trying to pick with Jimmy.

Jimmy took a drink and grinned at him.

“You, kitten. I followed your trail all the way up the coast for two-hundred some miles. You’re practically a force of nature, babe.”

Jimmy could see Ford gritting his teeth and figured he better stop pressing his luck before a table was flipped on him. (Not that he couldn’t handle it—he just didn’t want to piss off the one old-friend he’d seen in years).

“You ever hear that song ‘ _Devil went down to Georgia_ ’?” he asked. Stan nodded, Ford did not. “Well, imagine something along those lines. ‘Cept I ain’t a violin prodigy and my soul got taken and put into a debt deeper than anything Rico ever had on you. And to pay it off I gotta go steal ‘em from others. I don’t know how many. I got powers and abilities and I haven’t aged a day since 1982.”

Jimmy tapped a finger against his glass, allowing the flames to build up behind his eyes, glowing through his sunglasses. “That about as weird as anything you got up to, Stan?”

Stan didn’t exactly lose his grin, he just seemed to grow deeper in thought and he forgot the smile was still there. Beside him Ford looked murderous, yet strangely guilty. Stan put a hand on Ford’s shoulder and turned to Jimmy.

“Heh, I’d say that’s right up our alley. But, maybe you really  _did_  come here for my brother, huh?” Stan laughed, but Jimmy didn’t catch the joke.

“What powers? Besides flame face.” Stan gestured to Jimmy’s face, and immediately he made the fire fall away. “You said tracking?”

“Not exactly.”

“But you said you followed our trail—“

“No, kitten.” Jimmy couldn’t help but fall into the familiar pet names. He missed any contact at all. “I followed a powerful soul signature. I have what could be called a second sight—I can see people’s souls. Their connections, their strength. There’s almost a pattern, a poetry to ‘em. I can infer things ‘bout folks’ lives pretty well after all the different types I’ve seen and felt.”

“And  _my_  soul was the one? Ya sure it wasn’t Ford’s?”

Jimmy shook his head while Ford scoffed at the question. “I haven’t looked at your brother’s soul, yet. I was shocked out of using it when I heard your voice as I walked in.” Jimmy leaned forward, toying with the straw in Stan’s drink across the table. “I fell out of my chair earlier because you were acting weird. I peeked at your soul and I was knocked down. You are even more amazing now, kitten, than all those years ago.”

Stan blushed, looking away.

“I wasn’t that amazing back then, either,” he muttered. Jimmy reached out one hand and cupped Stan’s jaw, turning his head so Stan had to look him in the eye. He projected warmth and hoped Stan felt it through the sunglasses.

“Stan Pines, we may have met in a bad time of your life. I may not have been pissing rainbows either back then, but you have always been one of the best people I’ve ever known. And the most amazing man I’ve ever loved. Knowing what your soul looks like only confirms what I knew years ago—I wish I hadn’t let you go.”

Stan was at a loss for words. But still he smiled a little, with a series of looks he couldn’t hope to decipher in the few moments they had, and reached up to hold the hand holding his cheek.

After a few moments of that, Stan cleared his throat, looking away.

“Yeah, maybe things’d be different, huh? If we’d never split. But I was an idiot and you were caught up and. Here we are now. Catching up.”

“What other abilities?” Ford asked softly. He seemed mollified that Jimmy wasn’t going to hurt Stan, and was genuinely interested in the answer. His eyes still held a large amount of guilt that Jimmy didn’t understand. Maybe if he could look at his soul…

“I can do minor illusions, change my appearance. The way I take a soul from a body can vary, too. From very painful to nothing at all. Control over flames, too.” Jimmy snapped his fingers and the tip of his index ignited, a small flame flickering there. “I can hold fire in my hand and not get burned. Of course, burns like hell to actually capture a soul. Everything comes at a price. I’ll show ya later.”

The brothers shared a look. Ford’s mouth grew tighter around the edges at the mention of his last ability, holding fire. But he said nothing. Stan was still holding his hand. Jimmy squeezed it and looked at him openly.

“So, what about you, Stan? How’d your story go?”

Stan sighs, deep and tired. “Why not? It’s a long story.” He looked over to Ford, as if asking permission. Ford nodded slightly, face shamed and eyes downcast.

And Stan talked. He started from the beginning, going over bits and pieces that Jimmy remembered from long ago, about being kicked out and all alone and unsure and lost. Jimmy thought about the kid he’d met back in that shitty bar, saved from that sick creep. Stan skimmed over his decade alone, about all the new lows he’d hit during that time, but Jimmy thought about his glimpse of Stan’s soul. Despite its power, it was throbbing with past pain, but muted in a way. As if it had been cut loose and re-attached, memories losing power but still a part of him.

Stan at some point let go of him and threw his arm around Ford’s, holding onto his brother, giving him a pat or a reaffirming hug at points of the story. Jimmy let no judgement pass his face as he learned of the brother’s background. Of the fight, of the deal Ford had made with his own demons. Of being lost for thirty years, each of them.

Stan’s soul had had an extremely bright and powerful rope attached to Ford. He imagined if he’d Stan in all those years apart, he’d’ve seen a powerful thread leading to nothing, dull and bright at the same time. An oxymoronic thread that would’ve had him thinking in circles. It was an attachment of love and hope and dreams and pain of the strongest sort Jimmy had ever seen. It was frayed yet seemingly threaded with steel, keeping it together.

The thirty years alone. Destroyed. There were definitely signs of being isolated in Stan’s soul. Of the desperation, the darkness, the depression. Stan’s soul was so complicated, so intense. Jimmy wanted to study it, to watch how it flowed and changed as he spoke, as memories came to the forefront and then retreated back. As experiences shaped him and strengthened his connections and weakened others. He’d seen signs of a Jumper’s soul in Stan, yet more cords that denied their existence. Stan’s soul was a marvel to behold.

The literal end of the world. Meeting his brother again. Getting him  _back_. Jimmy saw tears forming in the corner of Ford’s eye and a mumbled, “ _all that wasted time_ ,” as Stan continued talking. As Stan explained about saving the world, about losing his mind. About Ford shooting a dream demon out of existence, destroying his twin brother’s mind at the same time.

He felt a surge of anger run through him. He wanted to destroy the monsters of both of these men’s pasts. Stan’s story awakened that desire for justice, for protection. If he checked their souls, would he be able to follow their threads back to the source?

Stan finished talking and was staring at Jimmy. “Well, there ya have it. Was mine weirder?”

“Weirdness suits you, Stan. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that, all alone.” Jimmy’s current form couldn’t cry. He distantly wondered if it could, whether it would be flames if he did produce tears. He leaned forward and put his hand back on Stan’s jaw, thumbing over the wrinkles and considering all of the words his old friend had just said. All the things he hadn’t said but Jimmy could read between the lines.

Sometime after Jimmy takes his hand back, and Stan lets him, but the conversation doesn’t stop. The give and take of words does not die now that apologies are given and overviews are shared. Stan and Ford kept telling him more and more. Kept giving themselves to Jimmy, without him even having to ask. He wanted to give back. The bar called for last rounds and they all went back to a motel Stan and Ford had booked for the night.

Jimmy got a second room and Stan followed him there, after a glance and a look and an entire conversation in those two actions that Jimmy couldn’t follow. Stan stepped into the room behind Jimmy, closing the door.

“You said there was a cost to everything, that you’d show me later. Is it later yet?” Stan asked, one burly arm reaching to hold Jimmy’s hip in his large grasp. Jimmy immediately placed his hands on either side of Stan’s waist and bent his neck, stopping just shy of kissing the man in his arms. He didn’t want to just take this.

Stan understood, and closed the gap. It was like a cool drink of water, kissing Stan. Like he’d had a dry ache in his throat for years and this one, short kiss was what he’d needed to stave it off. Jimmy broke off first, surprised by the sensation. Stan brought his other arm up to cradle Jimmy’s face, thumb stroking his cheek the way Jimmy had done for Stan back at the bar.

“It’s—it’s not pretty, Stan. But it is later,” he said, and he liked the faint smile on Stan’s face at continuing the attempt at a joke.

Jimmy broke Stan’s hold gently, taking a step back. He took off his jacket, throwing it over back of the desk chair. He made sure he wasn’t facing the room’s mirror as he pulled his shirt off and over his head.

“ _Hot Belgian Waffles_ ,” Stan breathed, hand hovering hesitantly over Jimmy’s chest. Jimmy didn’t look down at himself, though the compulsion was there. He turned his head to one side, eyes shut just in case. He felt Stan’s fingertips brush his sternum, over the still-light dusting of hair on his chest. He’d had reddish-brown curly hair there, when he’d gotten cursed. And he knew his body would be almost exactly as Stan remembered it. Except for the scarring, of course.

In uneven rows, all across his chest. Dozens, probably hundreds of little scratch marks. Tallies. He knows many of them are the white faded look of a scar that has healed over time. Some must still be raw, red, angry looking, but those aren’t the ones that hurt. His body burns as he thinks about it. Of every soul he’s taken, of every way he’s tried to redeem himself according to his boss’ terms.

Stan lightly runs his fingers over the raised bumps on his torso. Jimmy doesn’t count the number, knowing he’d only get more for his trouble.

“Don’t tell me the number, don’t count it, don’t tell me how many are left,” Jimmy orders in a soft growl.

“Jimmy, I—“Stan presses a hand above where Jimmy’s heart beats. It’s more of an illusion that will become real, once his debt is paid.

“I know. I’m despicable. Every single white line is someone I’ve cut down, someone I’ve done worse than killed. Every soul I’ve gathered.”

“You’re a good guy, Jimmy. I’m sure some of them deserved it, right?” Stan asks, voice strange and Jimmy can’t bear to look at his face, not wanting the judgement from his old friend. He suddenly remembered why he stopped running with his crew. Why it was too painful to take casual lovers, or to talk to anyone, really. He may want that connection, but with his past? His living hell? He didn’t deserve it.

“Maybe. But I’ve taken kids, Stan. Runaways and Jumpers and  _dam it, Stan_ , their souls were worth so much—they paid so much of my debt.” Jimmy’s voice cracks and he curls in on himself, shoulders slumped. He tries to take a step back but Stan stops him, winding a hand around Jimmy’s waist.

“It doesn’t matter, Jimmy,” Stan says, getting on his toes to kiss Jimmy’s cheek. He flinches at the unexpected contact, finally turning back to face Stan. He’s looking at him like-like,  _shit_ , he didn’t even know. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone looked at him like they—

“ _Jimmy_ ,” Stan says before pulling him down by the neck to kiss him. Jimmy leans into it, lets himself get lost in the refreshing feel of lips on his, a waterfall of emotion cascading over him as Stan’s hands slide across his body.

They stumble back to the bed, Stan pushing him down gently, bending to pull off each of Jimmy’s boots. Stan toes his own off, reaching for his own shirt and letting it fall to the floor beside Jimmy’s. Stan climbs onto the bed, laying Jimmy down beneath him, kissing him again, their chests flush together.

Stan is soft, in the way he’s always been soft. A big gut that hides his readily available strength. Burly arms that have only gotten stronger over the years. He feels Stan’s chest sag against his, and for a moment he feels such utter wrongness that he doesn’t match him. That he isn’t gray or old or wrinkly like Stan is. But then Stan kisses him again and his mind is drowning in the depth of Stan’s kiss and he doesn’t feel the loss any longer.

Fire doesn’t erupt in his veins so much as a sharp jolt of longing, like ice, dousing the burn he always feels. For a little while the ache and burn is lost in favor of Stan’s overwhelming ocean of a presence. As they make love, Jimmy is overcome by the depth of Stan’s affection for him, despite everything that had been said and done by the two of them.

Jimmy gasps Stan’s name as he reaches his peak, but Stan doesn’t let up. Stan keeps touching, sucking,  _loving_  Jimmy’s body until he feels wrung out.

Later, they’re both dozing in and out of consciousness, and Jimmy is laying mostly on Stan’s chest, Stan’s arms wrapped around him, and he feels safe. He feels  _home_. He twists around to kiss Stan’s cheek, and Stan lazily runs a hand through Jimmy’s hair, mumbling in his sleep.

Jimmy lets his second sight take over while he’s in this hazy state, letting Stan’s colors and threads wash over him until he falls asleep.

The next day, Jimmy knows he needs to head off again. He needs to finish his job. He considers getting up and leaving before Stan can wake up, but even as he tries to move, he feels an ache deep inside him he can’t explain. It wasn’t the tug of his boss demanding the souls he’d captured a few days ago. It wasn’t hunger, or even the burn of old scars. It was—it was coming from Stan?

He turns his mind from it, resolved to enjoy his last moments with Stan.

They all converge on the docks, the next day. For the few minutes Jimmy was retrieving his motorcycle, and Stan and Ford were finishing hauling supplies to their boat, Jimmy felt the dull ache return. It was strange, almost as if—

“You gotta finish your soul-searching, Jimmy,” Stan says, almost too blunt, as they all meet again. Stan cracks a grin at the pun, and Jimmy gives him a small smile for it. It’s not a lie, but not what Jimmy would prefer to call it.

“But when you’re done, call me up, eh? You’ll know how to find me.”

“That sounds a little cocky, Stan. How can you be sure? I won’t have soul-sight when I get done.”

Stan came in close for a kiss, wrapping his arms tight around Jimmy one last time. Jimmy felt the ache recede, and felt the relief as if Stan’s touch were a cool lake on a hot day. “I just know ya, Jimmy. And I’m selfish. I’m gonna take what I can, ya know?” Stan winks and moves back to stand by Ford.

They say their final goodbyes, Ford nodding even with narrowed eyes but with a warm enough smile.

As Jimmy drives away, he turns back one final time, seeing their boat push off from the dock, laughter echoing back to him as the  _Stan o’ War_  drifts away.

He feels the ache return and stretch like a rubber band.

After all this time of taking, taking,  _taking_ , what he needed, it appeared that two could play at that game. It was willing, on Jimmy’s part, but… Stan had a claim on his soul, now. To rival his boss’ claim. He felt it, strongly.

Stan’s soul claimed his own. He knew there was a well-bound cord between them now, growing only stronger with the distance. He could feel Stan’s soul glowing and sending pulses down the line, to his own, feeling the effects of that bond even though his soul was indebted to another.

Jimmy smiled as his motorcycle roared to life, and he flew down the coast. His entire life was give and take… it felt good to  _give_  and be  _taken_ , for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Jimstan so much, but especially when Jimmy Snakes isn't an abusive boyfriend.
> 
> I just want my boys happy.
> 
> Thanks for reading!! Comments and Kudos appreciated. Tell me what you think :D

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/kudos appreciated 
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think about this story. It was a labor of love


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